


From One Professional To Another

by laurel_crown



Category: Black Books, Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-03 00:29:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2831537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurel_crown/pseuds/laurel_crown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bernard and Manny receive some very strange nighttime visitors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From One Professional To Another

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thisisthemorning](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisisthemorning/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide, thisisthemorning! I hope you enjoy reading this just as much as I did writing it, these four go together so well! Apologies for the lack of Fran, but I got the feeling she was sleeping off a hangover elsewhere ;)

"I really don't think you should do this ..."

"Nonsense." Crowley lifted his sunglasses just long enough to glare at the lock, and walked inside. The shop was so dingy he almost bumped into a table, but there was no point in being supernatural if you couldn't cheat every now and then.

Aziraphale dithered on the doorstep, but the lure of books proved too strong. He stepped forward, took a deep breath of musty air, and smiled at the chaos around them. "It's perfect," he whispered.

Crowley grinned. "I knew you'd like it, angel."

"But it's also _not for sale_ , my dear," Aziraphale continued. "I can't just walk in and-"

"CHARGE!"

A long-haired man in a white nightshirt ran towards them, wielding a broom. The effect might have been somewhat akin to an avenging angel, but the man did not have Crowley's eyesight and promptly tripped over in the dark.

"Oh dear," said Aziraphale. The light switched itself on, and the angel bent over their would-be assailant, who started yelling again.

"They got me! Bernard! Bernard, save yourself! Intruders, in- hang on." The man stopped flailing and sat up, frowning at the ceiling. "That bulb burnt out yesterday."

Aziraphale looked sheepish. "Did it?"

A groan came from the desk at the back of the shop. What Crowley had taken for a blanket or trash bag of sorts turned out to be another mortal, who glared around the room blearily.

"Whazzgoinnotopenwhere- MANNY!”

Crowley winced at the volume – maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea, these people were _loud_. The man on the floor and Aziraphale both looked at the speaker with identical expressions of guilt.

This seemed to confuse the man at the desk, who waved a decidedly unsteady finger at Aziraphale before settling on the other mortal. “Manny! I told you to stop bringing in strays!”

“I didn’t, Bernard, honest!” Manny got to his feet and stared at Aziraphale, who was standing rather close and probably surreptitiously healing his bruises. “They came in by themselves!”

Bernard belched absently. “Well then get rid of them! _That_ one is wearing sunglasses indoors! Only I’m supposed to do that!”

“I’m terribly sorry about the fuss, gentlemen,” Crowley lied. “If you’d care to vacate the premises, I’m sure my colleague here will gladly offer you some form of remuneration.”

As he’d expected, the men were too tired and/or drunk to protest in the face of so many long words, let alone grasp his meaning. When he tried to usher them out of the shop, however, Bernard unearthed an empty wine bottle and brandished it at him.

“No! ‘Smy shop, get out! No buying or selling allowed!”

Crowley backed away, impressed by the man’s incoherent passion, if not his aim or choice of weapon. He looked for Aziraphale, and found him wandering the bookshelves, trailed at a safe distance by Manny.

“He’s quite right, my dear, we can’t just take his shop,” said the angel sternly. “Although it does have the most _delicious_ atmosphere of neglect – ideal for scaring off customers.” His shoes squelched, and Aziraphale beamed. “And something that makes you stick to the floor! Ingenious!”

Aziraphale rushed over to Bernard, confiscated the bottle and pumped his hand before the man noticed his loss. “I really must congratulate you, sir, your bookshop is a work of art. I could never make you part from your masterpiece! What _is_ that on the floor over there, treacle?”

Bernard was staring at the angel, mouth open. Manny sidled over, equally baffled, but evidently more capable of speech. “I think it might be snails. Fran says it’s where the Thing does its business, but I’ve never seen it there. I know the stuff’s resistant to water, soap, bleach …”

Aziraphale nodded along politely, but Crowley kept his eye on Bernard. Freed of the angel’s grip, he seemed to be working up to another outburst. When his chest inflated, and quite possibly his hair as well, Crowley snatched the empty bottle from Aziraphale’s hand.

“A toast, then,” he said loudly, swinging the fresh bottle of Chateux Cheval Blonc so it sloshed invitingly. “To your masterful shop.”

Bernard’s eyes lit up with alcoholic avarice. Manny blinked once, then obviously accepted the wine’s sudden existence and went to fetch glasses. Crowley winked at Aziraphale, certain he would see it, and wished every apocalypse could be so easily averted.


End file.
